


The ducks and the bees

by Yoite



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Angsty Orgasm, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale has a dirty mind, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Tease (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bad Puns, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley's Hair (Good Omens), Denial of Feelings, Dialogue Heavy, Dominant Crowley, Emotional Porn, Eventual Smut, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Experienced Crowley (Good Omens), Face Licking, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Horny Aziraphale (Good Omens), Humor, I'm Sorry Charles Dickens, Inappropriate Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Is That a Thing? I Don't Know How Else To Put It, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painful Sex, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, Rejection, Relationship Negotiation, Talking During Sex, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wooing, brief graphic injury, fucking while pining, insufficient aftercare, reluctant crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: Aziraphale is trying to get Crowley to sleep with him, which turns out harder than expected. In more ways than one.The first few chapters are on the humorous side, with the expected smut in later chapters, followed by angst and drama. If you are looking for a consistent tone across a story, you have come to the wrong place.. otherwise, enjoy the ride! :DMy love of puns and awkwardness has resulted in some oocness – sorry!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Softlightpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softlightpen/gifts).



> I feel the need to mention that I am OBSESSED with Crowley’s modern day hair style, so that's why I gave him this hair throughout the fic, even though technically it's set pre-apocalypse for the first five chapters, so his hair should be long. There are also a few other minor canon / timeline divergences, but overall I was trying to keep with the canon.
> 
> For Softlightpen, thank you for always reading my stuff and supporting me in abusing the Thesaurus, and for being awesome in general.

St. James's Park was lovely in spring, when bees were already buzzing their little heads off in beds of crocuses, but Londoners were not yet claiming their God given right to expose themselves in public on a quest to earn a bright pink sun tan.

The angel and the demon liked to sit on one of the park's many benches whenever they had matters of importance to discuss.

"You like my new haircut, then?"

Aziraphale surveyed the artfully messy dark red quiff with the air of a connoisseur, despite having sported the exact same hair style for six thousand years. Vanity was a sin. Naturally, sin looked fantastic on Crowley.

"It's snappy."

" _Snappy_?"

Aziraphale gave a little twitch of his shoulders, accompanied by a smile. He could have continued, of course, and shared his inner musings, which included the very important question whether those brushed-up tresses at the top of the demon's head were still long and soft enough to be wrapped around a finger. But he wasn't quite ready for that yet.

"I was going for _swinging_. I decided I'm single-handedly bringing back the sixties", the demon rubbed a few long fingers up and down his chin, briefly lost in his memories. "Those were good times."

"Oh yes", Aziraphale grinned, turning towards him enthusiastically. "They invented Angel Delight in 1967!"

He did actually have a rather specific agenda for today's catch-up, and so far he was pleased with how the conversation was evolving. Now he just needed to nudge it towards a suitable segue.

"So.. have you heard from your side recently?"

"Don't get me started! That slimy bastard Hastur interrupted Loose Women again this morning, I swear, he's doing it on purpose."

"And?"

"Apparently, I can't claim my Rickenbacker on expenses, because 'money doesn't grow on trees'. Well, duh, it's hell, nothing grows down there."

"You're learning to play bass guitar?"

"I _told_ you, I'm bringing back the sixties." Crowley casually leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head and stretching his unnaturally long legs so far from him that he nearly tripped up an important looking passer-by barking into his phone. "Also, a young family just moved in next door, and sound really travels in those flats. It's the little pleasures."

Aziraphale chose not to comment on that particular definition of 'pleasure'. This was a topic for further down the line.

"And what about the, you know, _individual_?"

"Oh, the Antichrist?"

The angel nodded meaningfully. The demon shrugged.

"Nah, nothing yet. But can't be too long now. The memo probably just needs to pass through all the _wrong_ departments and what not. Hope they lose the paperwork, if you ask me."

"Hm."

The angel looked down at his own hands clutched on top of his stomach. His palms were starting to feel slightly damp. He sat up a little straighter.

"Crowley, if the Apocalypse really happens, is there something you're going to regret.. not doing?"

The demon scrunched up his face for a moment, thinking.

"Not really. I mean, I do hope it doesn't all go down the drain before I'm caught up on Doctor Who.. you?"

"Well. I have never -"

"Really? You should give it a go, hey, maybe we can have a watch party one night."

"I'm not talking about your silly series."

"Aw", Crowley gave him a pouty look. Maybe he was sensing his friend's onset of nerves, as he also sat up a little straighter. Though in his case that still meant slouching wide-legged on the bench with one arm draped across its back and the other on his thigh, unnecessarily close to his crotch.

"I know it breaks your heart, Angel, but you'll never be able to actually try out _all_ the cafés in London. We seem to be having some kind of hydra situation here, when one goes bust two new ones pop up -"

"Why do you always presume that I'm thinking about food?!"

"Past experience?"

"That's fair."

There was a moment of silence, only punctuated by birds' song, which Aziraphale found a bit too on the nose right now. But he could not delay this subject any further, it was now or never.

"What's your regret, then?"

"Um", the angel cleared his throat. "Well, as we know, when humans like each other, sometimes, they, er, give each other a.. _special hug_."

"What the heaven are you on about?"

"See, therein lies the root of my problem, I don't really know, even though, I suppose, this is a human body, for all intents and purposes, and, I suppose, one could say that we like each other, on some level, off-record, obviously.."

He cautiously glanced over at his friend, hoping that his brows would do the rest of the work in helping him carry across his subtle meaning -

"Are you asking me to sleep with you?"

Aziraphale nearly jumped into the air, caught off guard, even though he really should have expected such insolence from the shameless fiend. He imagined his face resembled a giant pink cupcake right now. With a cherry on top.

"Well, I mean, if you put it like that", he babbled, "there are, of course, a lot of different meanings to the word 'sleep', um, there have been some interesting theories throughout the centuries, oh, by the way, have I told you I got my hands on a Freud first edition last week, it's in mint condition, as are _some other things_ , frankly, well, yes, anyway, you know, the act, whatever you want to call it -"

The angel's undignified rambling dried up when Crowley pushed his sunglasses half way down his nose, watching him intently from beneath quirked brows. Aziraphale's gaze darted away, glued to his own hands that were playing with each other, for lack of better options. He wasn't expecting to be scrutinised like this. Crowley knew exactly what he looked like. He probably knew the shape and position of every single hair on his head and wrinkle on his face.

He forced himself to look up, inspecting the newly green leaves, the blossoming flowers, the ducks. The tiny little daisies poking their heads out of the grass that was in need of some gentle trimming. St. James wasn't what it used to be, in the good old days. Ducks, again.

When he finally lost patience and returned his focus to Crowley the demon was already pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Nah."

Aziraphale blinked. He knew it would be difficult to get this conversation rolling, but somehow he'd expected it to be plain sailing from there. That's the kind of stuff demons existed for, no? _Naughty stuff_. And he was pretty sure Crowley was there for it. It never came up in conversation, naturally, but no one could walk around like _that_ , on legs like _that_ , without knowing exactly where to stick it, and how. The thought made the angel a little dizzy for some reason. 

"What do you mean, 'nah'."

"I'm not gonna sleep with you. That's a stupid idea."

"Ah", the angel muttered, completely thrown off script. "Why?"

"Trust me, I know a stupid idea when I see it. All about the stupid ideas, me."

"So this should be right up your street then."

"I don't think so, Angel."

Crowley was studying one of the ducks currently engaged in the herculean task of swallowing a whole Cornish pasty, with considerably more interest than the event deserved.

"Um", Aziraphale still had a card up his sleeve, although he wasn’t a very accomplished magician, "if this form doesn't do it for you, I think I have a female option, it's just, the male one seemed to make everything easier before humans finally invented feminism, you know what it was like back then, so it grew on me, but I can check the manual -"

"There's nothing wrong with your body", Crowley cut him off, quite deliberately avoiding to look at said body.

"So what seems to be the issue?"

"You know, maybe you should cut it down a bit with the daytime drinking, and I'm saying that as a demon, I mean, yeah, there's Bottomless Bordeaux Brunch at the Ritz, but still -"

"I'm not inebriated!" Aziraphale corrected him, indignantly.

Then, a moment later:

"Wait, that's today? I thought it's Friday!"

"Ngk."

The demon crossed his legs and scooted a little bit away from him to his own side of the bench, which confused Aziraphale more than anything else.

"We're friends. Friends don't do that kind of thing."

But by now, the angel was full to the brim with the courage of desperation. It was too late to back down.

"Since when do you have morals?"

"Guess you're rubbing off on me. - uh, I mean, you're a bad influence, or a good one, technically. A good bad influence."

Crowley scratched his neck, obviously hoping to get away with it.

"You said, ' _rubbing off_ '."

"Ugh, please, stop it!" The demon groaned, rolling his head back against the bench. "I'm in pain!"

"Heh."

"Oh, you're _most definitely_ drunk."

"Actually", Aziraphale raised an instructive index finger, proud to have recently acquired some new knowledge of native customs, "I believe, nowadays, they call this 'friends with benefits'. I'm asking you _because_ you're my friend. I wouldn't want -"

"Oh my dear lord in hell. You're actually serious, aren't you?"

"Yes, quite."

"Still, no. Um, look", without a warning, the demon jumped up from the bench, uncharacteristically hectic, "I have to go and, uh", he gesticulated, pointing in various directions all at once.

"It's fine. I get it", Aziraphale huffed. "You've got other, more important temptations to take care of."

"Yes, I actually do." Crowley sounded a little mad, and, for the life of him, the angel just couldn't work out why. "Maybe the Apocalypse is closer than we thought if even the angels are getting horny now!"

The demon made a move to leave, ignoring the hand Aziraphale had raised in protest, then turned back around. 

"And by the way, if I line up a thousand people and ask them to describe my hair, no one's gonna say 'snappy'! Not. A. Single. One."

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, walking away while muttering something along the lines of 'go find somebody to explain Grindr to you, seriously' under his breath.

The angel was left on his own, watching the ducks, thoroughly dissatisfied with the status quo. The drake closest to him was starting to show a very particular interest in one of the hens.

"Yeah, thanks for that, God", Aziraphale barked up at the sky. "Appreciate it!"

Some of the older people on neighbouring benches looked up from their newspapers, tutting and darting him disapproving looks. St. James wasn't what it used to be.

Aziraphale sighed. It looked like he had to get a little more creative after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this is super short, but since I have already written it I decided to put it up anyway.
> 
> I won't be able to come back to this story at all next week because of stupid RL obligations, but looking forward to continuing the week after.

The next time Aziraphale saw Crowley he was stood behind the register, about to serve a little old lady purchasing an illustrated edition of Lady Chatterley's Lover.

The demon barged into his shop, nearly shattering the door's antique glass panels.

"What's this, Angel?"

He unceremoniously waved a bunch of flowers through the air.

"Asiatic Lilies", Aziraphale was glad to inform him. "I believe this particular variety is called 'Queen of the Night'".

"I know what they're called! Plants are _my_ thing."

True, visiting Crowley's flat always made the angel nostalgic for the Garden of Eden, which was all kinds of ironic.

"Why'd you send me these?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath. Somehow, Crowley looked even more handsome when he was furious.

"Well, yesterday, I went down Berwick Street for some blueberries, and then I saw these, and I thought of you."

The demon's face was such a picture of utter incomprehension that the angel felt compelled to elaborate.

"Because, you see, they are black, but they have these red stamens -"

"Yeah, I get it!" Crowley barked. "Very subtle!"

"I thought so."

"You're still trying to get me to sleep with you, aren't you?"

The shop was instantly shrouded in a deadly silence. A few customers experienced a sudden case of myopia, burying their faces deep into the books they were holding. Others were staring at the shopkeeper and his weird-looking friend, visibly tearing open an imaginary bag of popcorn. The old lady by the counter was looking at each of them in turn, an inappropriately broad grin on her face.

"Shall we, maybe, move to the back room..?" Aziraphale gestured shakily. He would have wished for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, but that was not exactly fitting imagery for an angel. 

"No!", the old lady protested.

"No!" Crowley snapped, slamming the delicate flowers down onto the till and nearly knocking over a little tray of complimentary brownie bites. "No back rooms! No _back doors_! This is not gonna happen! So stop it!"

He stormed out, not without snarling a 'don't bother, everyone dies' at a customer holding a special edition of A Song Of Ice And Fire. The man in his thirties went white as chalk, returning the tomes to their shelf. He would never find out what a catastrophic mistake he had made, given that Aziraphale had included The Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring in that particular edition.

The angel gave a deep exhale, readjusting his bow tie. He returned his attention to his obvious pervert of a customer.

"Can I help you ma'am?"

"I would, if I were a spring chicken", the old lady croaked reassuringly as he was carefully wrapping the book in parchment paper.

"Glad to hear that, ma'am."

"I think you're quite the snack."

"Thank you for saying that, ma'am."

Miraculously, she would forget all about this embarrassing incident as soon as she left the shop. All the other customers, too.

As soon as the door fell close behind the old lady, Aziraphale pulled a sheet of paper from under the counter. He shook his head, reaching for his fountain pen and crossing out the first item on the list: "Flowers".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me happy. Please comment.
> 
> P.S.: Look at these beautiful Queen Of The Night lilies and tell me this is not Crowley reimagined as a flower: https://www.amateurgardening.com/how-to/spring-plants/lillies-care-lily-flowers-look-queen-night-15520


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a bastard to write. I need it to function as a bridge between the silliness of the first two chapters and the smut that will follow in chapter 4, but I had no clear idea of what I wanted chapter 3 to feel like when I started it. I still don't know if this works. Oh well. Can't wait to make a start on the next one now 😈
> 
> P.S.: I have started reading the book, so there is a little nod to the book in this chapter.

About two weeks later Aziraphale was sat in a cozy little café with a drop of molten vanilla ice cream slowly crawling down his lower lip. He made a conscious choice not to wipe it away, which was causing him some discomfort.

Things would have been much easier if Crowley had shown him the decency of succumbing to one of the items from the list already, the one the angel had found in a reliable looking magazine while waiting for his barber's appointment. The list was called ' _33 nice and accurate techniques to woo your crush_ '.

Of course, the word ' _crush_ ' seemed inappropriate. As far as his very cursory understanding of the term went, it couldn't be applied to someone you'd known for millennia.

Still, the tips listed there seemed a better fit than the courtship advice in Austen and Flaubert, and you couldn't exactly borrow a manual on how to take an angel/demon relationship to the next level from your local library.

Sure, a few of the ideas had to be dismissed out of hand. Aziraphale could not whatsapp Crowley a picture of himself in bed, because he lacked a mobile phone. And a bed.

He did, however, nail the ' _thoughtful little gift_ s' tip when he managed to get his hands on the same kind of James Bond bullet-hole-in-the-windscreen transfers that Crowley used to drive around with in 1967. Aziraphale ordered them from something called 'Electrobay', with the help of a tech savvy customer, and secretly applied them. He promptly got a call from the demon, making it quite clear that if he ever touched the Bentley again he would find himself having an unscheduled and potentially permanent meeting with his boss. 

After that fiasco, Aziraphale decided he wouldn't attempt the ' _spill a drink on his clothes so he has to undress in front of you_ ' tip, given how fond Crowley was of his pointy-lapelled jacket.

So there he was, in the café, giving ' _focus his attention on your lips_ ' a go instead. He was nothing if not stubborn.

"Are you, like, broken or something?"

Crowley was stirring around in his quadruple espresso, studying him curiously while at the same time avoiding to look at him altogether, something only a demon could pull off convincingly.

"At first I thought, maybe you just drank something funky, or read something funky, I know what you're like when you get a delivery late at night, maybe you got your nose too deep into that Freud first edition, but- .. Are you going to wipe your face or not?"

Aziraphale smiled into the cotton napkin as he complied.

"But it's like you're on this unholy crusade, and I just can't figure out _why_."

"I told you why."

Slowly, the angel placed another forkful of ice cream topped waffle into his mouth. He kept his eyes down, but he could tell that his opposite was staring. He had known for a while that the demon took a strange pleasure in watching him eat. Crowley wasn't that big on human food himself, his diet was mostly liquid. So this is how their lunch dates (which, obviously, no one was calling ' _dates_ ') usually went: Aziraphale enjoying the food and Crowley enjoying his enjoyment of it.

"I just want to understand as many facets of The Great Plan as I can, while I still can."

"So you think God would want you to get down and dirty?"

"I would never wish to second guess -"

"Ineffability. I know, yadda yadda."

"This is scrumptious, by the way. Do you want to try?"

He held a loaded fork out to Crowley.

"Nah, I'm good", the demon shook his head, maybe a tad too forcefully. "I mean, I'm _bad_. And I don't want any of your.. waffle."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"There's whiskey sauce."

"Hm. Okay then."

Aziraphale barely suppressed a grin at his friend's predictable nature as he watched him lean in and wrap his mouth around the fork. ' _Feed your crush some of your dessert_ ' was tip number 26 from the list. For a moment their eyes met - or would have met, were it not for Crowley's shades. Still, it was enough to make the rest of the waffle do a little dance in Aziraphale's stomach. Followed by a pang of guilt.

"Mmh. Leave it to humans to turn a simple waffle into pure sin. No wonder I don't have much to- What's wrong?"

It never failed to surprise the angel how sensitive Crowley was to any changes in his mood, no matter how small. Like he was very finely tuned into Aziraphale FM whenever they spent time together. Maybe he deserved a little bit more honesty.

"You're right", the angel put down the fork for a moment. "Something is.. off with me. I keep having these.. strange thoughts."

"How strange, on a scale from zero to Bosch?"

Aziraphale gave a little sigh, twitching his shoulders and twisting the innocent napkin between his fingers. At least 90% of the time, those thoughts involved Crowley wearing at least 90% less than he was right now, but the angel wasn't ready for _that_ kind of honesty.

"Just.. thoughts. Maybe there is some truth to what you said, in the park. Maybe the Apocalypse is closer than we thought. There is something in the air. I know you can tell."

There was not a single doubt in his mind that if he felt it, then Crowley felt it too.

"Ngk", the demon gave a noncommittal noise, stirring his coffee more vigorously, though there was nothing there to stir, really. It was pure, viscous caffeine, just the way he liked it.

"There have been signs. Like, you know, the vulcano -"

"Eyjafjajaja-?", Crowley tried.

"Fjallallalla-?", Aziraphale tried.

"Yeah, the big one, in Iceland", Crowley confirmed impatiently. "Huge clouds of ash in the sky, doesn't get much sign-ier than that."

"So I -"

"Would you like anything else?"

They both jumped a little, gaping at the waiter who had suddenly appeared at the table. Aziraphale had always suspected that there was some kind of demonic scheme at play to make sure that, throughout the history of mankind, waiters always turned up at the worst possible moments.

"We do a special Sweetheart Strawberry Sundae for two", the waiter gave them a cheesy wink.

"No, thank you", Aziraphale smiled politely. Fifty, forty, maybe even thirty years ago, one of them would have bothered to correct the waiter and point out that they weren't, in fact, a couple. But by now they had given up trying to explain their relationship to mortals.

"I just want to try -", Aziraphale cautiously picked the thread back up as soon as the waiter had left.

"Meh.. I promise you, it's nothing special, really. It's not even as good as your waffle."

"Easy for you to say, you've tried, no?"

"So? I'm a demon. Do you want to try taking a bath in sulphur, too? I don't recommend it, by the way."

"No, but -"

"And anyway, why _me_?"

There were quite a few possible answers to that question, and all of them occupied the angel's mind in turn as his gaze slid from the tips of Crowley's wannabe pompadour down to his comfortingly familiar, angular face, his lips, his long neck and broad shoulders, then further down.. - until he was cut off rather abruptly by the table annoyingly positioned in between them. He swallowed, heat rising to his temples, and it wasn't the fault of the surprisingly potent whiskey sauce. He had no real concept of what made a person desirable to another person, but he found Crowley's human shape perfectly acceptable. At least, he did not seem to have any slimy creatures living anywhere on his body or any flies buzzing around him in standard demon fashion. Unless there was something unexpected hidden underneath those clothes -

"Earth to Aziraphale?"

"Ahem, well", the angel mumbled, "just seems like the most convenient option, I suppose."

"Oh. Yes. That's what I thought", the demon huffed. "I'm flattered."

"What do you want me to say? I don't even know why you're having such an issue, you're the one who came up with _the arrangement_ and us helping each other out and all. It's really not a _big thing._ Er, I mean, I'm not saying -"

The heat left Aziraphale's temples and swallowed the whole of his face. Well, it _was_ the demon's fault that, with the way he liked to sit, and those absurdly tight jeans he liked to wear, not much was left to the imagination.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"You're _awful_ at being an angel, you know that?"

"Not as bad as _you_ were."

"Eh.. point taken."

A few moments passed, filled with the clinking of cutlery all around them.

"Please", the demon suggested finally, picking his cup of cold espresso back up, "can we just go back to our normal meet-ups, where I'm telling you about this new Netflix show I'm binging, and you tell me how I should read the book instead, and I protest that I can't be arsed to read, and then you accuse me of not wanting to use my head to think, and I respond that us demons were the ones who invented thinking in the first place, and then we bicker some more and you shake your head at me, but just a tiny little bit, like you do, and -"

Suddenly, he cut himself off, taking a few long swigs of coffee instead. Aziraphale seemed to detect the slightest tinge of red on his cheeks. He opened his mouth, though he wasn't sure what to say. It almost came as a relief when Crowley's Devon Tread 1 made a familiar noise. The demon checked his watch.

"Oh bugger. Gotta go."

"I thought you said you don't have much to do?"

"I forgot, the Lurky Jerks wanted to see me."

Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley's nickname for Hastur and Ligur never failed to amuse him.

"You're going to hell?"

"Nah, just Oxfordshire."

The angel frowned as Crowley leapt to his feet, not without finishing his drink in one final gulp.

"Wasn't it in 1914 that they came up to Earth last?"

"Yep. See ya."

"I guess I'm paying then", Aziraphale shouted after him, only receiving a little wave in response as Crowley disappeared out the door. The angel sighed, pushing the rest of his ice cream around the plate with his fork. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry anymore. Something was wrong. He could tell it with every fibre of his almost human matter.

Later that evening, when the phone rang, he already knew it before he even held the receiver in his hand.

"It's happening", Crowley's voice sounded strangely flat. "The end of the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've planned this story out in my head now, there will be 6 chapters altogether. I've not written a longer story for ages so I'm very excited 😅


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, my first proper smut for these two. 😁
> 
> I've adjusted the rating and added a bunch of new tags, please check them out. 
> 
> I really couldn't make up my mind on the tone of the scene, so it has a bit of everything now: some cheese, some awkwardness, some angst, some kink, and lots of banter and bad jokes, because that's just how I roll. 🤷
> 
> I was going to edit it down a bit to make it more cohesive, but then I just committed myself to sucking.
> 
> Ramble over, hope you enjoy.

Aziraphale remembered his own strength at the very last moment, loosening his grip on the receiver before it crumbled in his hand. Good job, too. You couldn't get nice, reliable appliances like that anywhere these days. In typical human fashion, people had perfected phones until they could no longer be used for phoning purposes.  
  
"You mean, the, uh.. _very_ end?"  
  
"Is there a different kind?"  
  
The angel switched the receiver to his other ear, as if hoping that the opposite side of his head would receive better news.  
  
"The Antichrist?"  
  
"Who else would it be, the Easter Bunny?"  
  
"And you -"  
  
"Delivered him, yes. Well, not _delivered_ delivered. That would definitely be one I'd never recover from."  
  
"Ew", the angel scrunched up his nose at that unsavoury mental image. Thankfully, Crowley was quick to give him something else to occupy his mind.  
  
"I want to see you."  
  
Aziraphale pressed the cool metal of the earpiece into his skin, heart skipping a beat. It was an innocuous phrase, sure. It had been about a thousand years since they first started helping destiny out and seeing each other on purpose. But it was always "we need to talk" here, or "meet me at place, time" there, or even "hey, I found this new pub we have to try", sometimes. Never 'want'. No 'wanting' had ever figured in any of this.  
  
"Yes", the angel did a terrible job at pretending not to notice. "Third alternative rendezvous, maybe? Two in the afternoon?"  
  
Crowley had really enjoyed the Cold War, it was his favourite kind of evil, clever and not too messy. Ever since, the angel had to indulge his love of silly code names, as if they were a pair of not overly competent spies.  
  
"No, not tomorrow. Not the bandstand. Your bookshop. Tonight."  
  
Apparently, Aziraphale's heart decided to make up for the skipped beat and throw in a few extra ones for good measure.  
  
"Tonight? Isn't it a bit late -"  
  
"It's not like you sleep at night."  
  
"But you -"  
  
"Do you still want to have sex?"  
  
Outside, the streetlights were just twinkling on, plunging passers-by into a soft yellow glow. The angel was staring out of the window. It had rained earlier and a rainbow of lit-up storefronts was reflecting in the puddles. It was rather lovely.  
  
"Well?"  
  
There was just enough urgency in Crowley's voice to pull him back into the moment, though he still struggled to understand why he had suddenly lost the gift of speech. It had been on his mind for years now, if not decades, it was his idea, so a simple 'yes' should have been a piece of cake. A piece of cake that was stuck in his throat.  
  
"You need to say something, Angel, before this 'well' turns into a literal waterhole where my patience goes to die."  
  
"Uh -", Aziraphale nearly dropped the phone as he rediscovered phonetics, "you mean, _now_?"  
  
"Why, do you have plans?"  
  
The angel's eyes slid over to his computer desk where a neat pile of receipts was waiting for him.  
  
"And don't tell me you need to do your taxes."  
  
"Alright."  
  
"Great. Ok. I'll be popping over then."  
  
"Wait, wouldn't it be better if -"  
  
There was a faint click as the line disconnected. Aziraphale glared at the receiver.  
  
"- if I came over to your place, because I don't own a bed, and you have a king-sized one all to yourself?", he argued at his device, which remained annoyingly silent. If it had an opinion on the matter, it wisely chose not to disclose it.  
  
Aziraphale stood perfectly still for a while, the phone dangling limply from his hand, almost as if Sandalphon had swung by and turned him into a pillar of salt, which, to be fair, he would have been perfectly entitled to, given what was about to happen.  
  
He stood still while his mind exploded in slow motion and flew off in every direction at once, before slow motion turned into very quick motion indeed and his feet joined in, carrying him to the door, which he unlocked after a quick glance through the glass pane, then back to the shop floor, looking for a mirror, before remembering he didn't own a mirror either. He hardly needed one, he had moulded his appearance according to his personal taste a long time ago, it never changed, unless he wanted it to, he did not even have to see a barber, he just enjoyed it. Barber! How long had it been since his last appointment? He ran both hands through his hair and down the sides of his face. His palms felt clammy against his cheeks. Maybe he should wear something different. Something new. No, that was just _stupid_. How about music? He dashed over to the phonograph, thumbing through his vinyls, too fast, too slow, definitely too corny, and how come he didn't own a single Queens record? No music, then. Right, bed, he could just create one, of course, but that would definitely count as a frivolous miracle, and there was not enough space, anywhere, he really had to declutter the shop, it was just getting out of hand now, and, obviously, he could only create matter temporarily, how long would it have to last, would an hour be enough, or two, or..?  
  
Those last few thoughts pushed him over the edge completely. He leaned back against a bookshelf, not the one with the real rarities, of course, and took a deep breath, though his lung capacity seemed strangely diminished.  
  
He was just being silly now. He was an _angel_ , for Heaven's sake. Humans were doing that kind of thing all the time, obviously, look at how many of them there were. And unlike humans, this wasn't meaningful to him in any way, it was simply a new experience, no different than trying a new ice cream flavour. With his best friend. 'NBD', as he had overheard a youngster say on the number 19 the other day.  
  
So there really was no need to almost jump out of his skin when the door flew open. Even out of hours, the demon did not deem it necessary to knock, ever.  
  
Aziraphale peeled himself off the bookshelf just in time, inexplicably giving the most awkward little wave as soon as Crowley caught sight of him and nearly facepalming himself with the same hand a moment later. Why did he have to behave like such a dork sometimes?  
  
Uncharacteristically, the demon seemed too pre-occupied with his own thoughts to make fun of him, which was as good a sign as any that things weren't looking too good for the world.  
  
All Crowley could muster was a cocked eyebrow as he turned the key, locking them inside. A very earthly sound that snapped Aziraphale back to reality, reminding him of what the actual big story of the night was, namely the end of said reality.  
  
"So, what exactly happened", he kneaded his hands together anxiously, "with the Antichrist?"  
  
"Not much, yet", the demon gave a grumpy shrug, "I handed him over to the nuns."  
  
" _The nuns_?!"  
  
"Satanic nuns. And no, I didn't know that was a thing. There's going to be a switcheroo, I've been told. Well, not _told_ , exactly. They just kind of.. dumped it into my brain. Icky. Does your lot do that to you?"  
  
As Crowley ranted on he strolled up to a shelf, opening its hidden compartment and helping himself to a dusty bottle and a shot glass. He considered it for a second, then swapped the shot glass for a stein, filling it to the brim.  
  
"Want some?", he kindly offered Aziraphale his own bottle.  
  
"No, thanks", the angel was feeling woozy enough as it were. "But, by all means, do feel free to finish off my Harewood Rum, it's not like there are just fifty-nine of those bottles in the whole world."  
  
"Well", Crowley raised the beer mug to him in mock toast. "We have eleven years to drink up all the fancy booze you've been hoarding. So, cheers!"  
  
He took a few long gulps. Aziraphale swallowed, watching his Adam's apple bob as the liquid traveled down his throat.  
  
"Eleven years", he muttered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  
  
"I've had naps longer than that", Crowley put down the drink, wiping his mouth. Slowly. The more the angel struggled to focus on their conversation, the keener he was to keep it flowing.  
  
"You napped through most of the 19th century, if I recall."  
  
"Are you still huffy that I left you on your own, back then?"  
  
"I'm not _'huffy'_. I'm never _'huffy'_."  
  
"Hm."  
  
With that, Crowley removed his shades, fixating his gaze on the angel. Something was different about him, he seemed more collected, somehow, more restrained, his movements more deliberate, lacking their usual dramatic flourishes. There was not a speck of white in his eyes. Aziraphale's mouth went dry, maybe he should have accepted that drink after all. He was frantically thinking of something else to say, anything.  
  
"What-.. what did he look like? The Antichrist?"  
  
"No idea. Winston Churchill?"  
  
"Huh. That's weird. I mean.. Churchill had his faults, I guess, but -"  
  
"I'm saying, he looked like a baby."  
  
"Oh. _Oh_. Okay. That makes -"  
  
"Angel."  
  
Whatever meaningless babble Aziraphale was going to utter next, it fizzled out as Crowley rolled back his shoulders, casually taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.  
  
"I don't really want to talk about Satan's spawn right now. Kind of kills the mood."  
  
And just like that, the dam broke, flooding the angel's defences. All of a sudden, his heartbeat was everywhere at once, nearly choking him. He took in Crowley's tall, dark shape, as if seeing it for the first time, like back in the Garden, after the demon got his promotion for single-handedly inventing original sin. Quite an achievement, for someone without hands.  
  
"This will be a one time thing."  
  
"T-the Apocalypse?"  
  
"No. Well. That, too."  
  
Aziraphale should have been ready for this. He knew it was only a matter of time until he would get his way. Crowley had never been able to deny him anything, even stupid little whims of the moment. It worked both ways, of course. This one had required a bit more effort on his part, which had been rather entertaining, actually, the angel had felt quite clever about himself. Why, then, was he so unprepared, a deer-in-the-headlights level of unprepared, as Crowley walked up to him, leisurely, leaving plenty of opportunities to stop him.  
  
"How do you want to do this?" He might have as well asked about the best way to eat a scone, which had actually been the topic of a serious debate between them at one point. "Do you want me to kiss you, or just -"

Aziraphale gawked at him, wide-eyed, from just a few feet away. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again to say that he hadn't really thought about it in great detail, then closed it again, because he was a pretty bad liar. But enjoying a daydream and trying to capture it within the confines of human language were two very different things. Still, the demon was watching him unblinkingly from underneath raised eyebrows, clearly expecting an answer.

"Uh -", Aziraphale was desperately trying to find something to do with his hands, "maybe, hm, we could pretend like we're, uh, in a, what they would call, a romantic -"  
  
There was a brief flicker in Crowley's snake eyes, a flash of heat that blazed a trail through the angel's lungs, cutting him off. The demon casually waved his hand above his shoulder, pulling black curtains over every window and blocking out the hubble-bubble of a London evening. In the dim electric light, his cheekbones looked even more prominent.   
  
"Works for me."  
  
Whenever Aziraphale imagined what a kiss might feel like, which had been happening more and more the longer he spent on earth, his mind gradually shifting from knowing and observing towards wondering and fantasising, especially throughout the last decades, when humans started to show affection in public so liberally -.. Most of the time, he imagined it would be like a freeze frame from an old silent movie, with an orchestra playing in the background.  
  
But it wasn't like that when Crowley crossed the last of the distance between them. It wasn't like anything, really. Aziraphale was such a jittery mess of overstrung nerves and century old expectations that he felt nothing at all. His brain was hopelessly overloaded, refusing to process any new input. He did, however, remember to try and stick his tongue as deeply into Crowley's mouth as he could, like you're supposed to -  
  
The demon took a quick step back, not a big step though, remaining within arm's reach.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
“Uh-", the angel mumbled in confusion, staring into Crowley's deep, bright eyes, "isn't that how -.. I've seen a few -"  
  
"Have you been reading kissing tutorials, or something?"  
  
Aziraphale's furiously burning cheeks must have been answer enough for him. Crowley's face was twitching, like he was trying very hard to suppress a laugh. The angel felt his hands roll into fists. Of course! This was completely ridiculous! What were they even doing? It was just a joke, he had just been _joking_ , and how could Crowley honestly believe that he would ever want to do something so absurd -  
  
But Crowley must have believed it, because he stepped closer again, much closer this time, taking Aziraphale's face in both hands to press their foreheads together, stopping him in his tracks, nearly stopping his heart.  
  
"I'm sorry, Angel."  
  
The familiar sarcastic flippancy had drained from his voice, leaving behind nothing but a soft husk.  
  
"Listen. If we're going to do this, you need to calm down a bit. You're trying too hard."  
  
All Aziraphale could muster in response was a shaky exhale and an earnest effort to keep his knees from buckling.  
  
"Close your eyes. Let's start again."  
  
The angel obeyed unthinkingly, allowing Crowley to tilt his face ever so slightly upwards, holding perfectly still for him, even though his insides were trembling with anticipation. From this close he could feel the heat radiating off of him, the demon's body temperature ran higher than that of human. Not that Aziraphale had ever been flush against a human's chest like this.  
  
"I want you to stop thinking about a thousand things, for once. Just focus on me."  
  
The angel's throat made a tiny affirmative sound. It wasn't a hard ask. Maybe the world had already ended and he had simply failed to notice, because right now Crowley's thumbs stroking his cheeks were the only things that existed. All of a sudden he wasn't trembling anymore, feeling perfectly calm and safe with his face cradled in the demon's large hands. The anticipation was no longer making him nervous, it was dark and sweet, like hot cocoa.  
  
Then Crowley kissed him.  
  
This time, Aziraphale felt it all. Every inch of the demon's warm, soft mouth on his own, sending a jolt of electricity through his entire frame, Crowley's familiar smell, blended with the smokiness of age old rum, intoxicating, the quiet hitching of breath as their lips moved, and then the taste, God, his taste, the sweetness of oak and sugar cane on his tongue, lighting up every tastebud in the angel’s mouth. Crowley’s eyes, like molten amber, when he briefly pulled away.  
  
Aziraphale found himself already on tiptoes to match the demon's height, hands curled around his neck, the soft tickle of hair on his fingertips, every cell in his body longing for more of this. For a moment Crowley looked like he was about to say something, maybe something important, but all he managed was a little sigh as he pulled the angel tighter against his body, one hand on the back of his neck, the other wrapped around his waist, coaxing his mouth open with his tongue.  
  
Aziraphale's stomach felt like it had grown its own wings as the demon kissed him slowly and deeply, and with such dedication as if intending to keep kissing him for every minute of every hour for the next eleven years. Which, right now, seemed like a pretty workable plan. Maybe the world was ending, but Aziraphale was only just remembering how it began, what it felt like to explore his new body, to sense and touch for the very first time, all the different shapes and colours and textures. It was the purest form of magic, and he was starting to forget, he had gotten so used to it all, but now he remembered, and it was already getting too much to take in all at once.

He was hopelessly overwhelmed by the responses drawn from his body by just a kiss when the demon finally released his lips, allowing him to catch his breath for a brief moment. Then Crowley's mouth was on his neck, offering a whole new menu of sensations, the soft wet pressure of a hot tongue on his pulse and the sharp, hidden menace of teeth grazing his skin.  
  
Aziraphale gasped, hands bunched in the fabric at the demon's chest, knees dissolving. His head rolled back all by itself and then his mouth complained:  
  
"You.. lied to me!"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"This is.. better.. than waffles."  
  
Crowley snorted with laughter, face pressed into the nook of his neck, the sound thrumming through him head to toe. Aziraphale could not help but chuckle himself. The demon's face popped back up to smirk at him. Whenever Crowley looked at him like this, Aziraphale was pretty sure the demon considered his expression to be mildly mocking, not begrudgingly affectionate, as it would have appeared to the casual observer; something the angel had always chosen to best not mention.  
  
"We barely even started."  
  
As if to underline his words, Crowley’s hands moved up to the bowtie around Aziraphale's neck. The demon never broke eye contact as he loosened the knot, pulling gently until he held the thin piece of fabric in his hands. Aziraphale felt a warm shiver crawl down his spine and tiptoe along every nerve path.  
  
"I've always wanted to take this oldfangled thing off you."  
  
"Tartan is the new black.. I read."  
  
'No. Black is the new black. And the old black. The always black."  
  
Aziraphale smiled against the demon's lips as he was pulled into another kiss, and this one felt so beautifully comfortable and tender it made his chest hurt, as if they had been doing nothing else for centuries. And at the same time, the slickness of Crowley's tongue wrapped around his own was still so surreal it made him lightheaded. Too dazed to notice the demon's hand snaking down his chest, his abdomen, and lower still.  
  
"Haa -"  
  
Aziraphale gave a startled cry, gripping the demon's shoulder for support as the sudden rush of heat nearly swept him off his feet. Now it was Crowley's turn to smile.  
  
"Did you get your sword back, or are you just happy to see me?"  
  
"Wha -"  
  
The intensity of it was so unexpected and mind-boggling Aziraphale could not even form a coherent thought, let alone words, had no means of resisting when Crowley pulled him closer. His face was pressed against the demon's collarbone, trapped there as the fingers of Crowley's other hand were casually trailing up and down the front of his trousers.  
  
"Tell me, Angel", the warm breath in his ear made him quiver, "have you ever touched yourself?"  
  
"No -", Aziraphale panted without even thinking. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that the head office did not involve him in policy decisions, because right now Crowley could have coaxed just about any information out of him.  
  
"That figures. You're too good to do the dirty work. That's what you've got me for, right?"  
  
"Hn", the angel argued, helplessly shuddering against the demon's body as that teasing hand picked up pace and pressure. It wasn't _like_ that. He'd thought about it, sure, he had been curious for a while, but it had not felt right to do something so.. _messy_. And what was happening now did not exactly feel _right_ ether. It felt the most astonishing kind of wrong when the demon's hand did a little swirl, sending his pulse flying.  
  
"Oh! .. Jesus -"  
  
"You and me both know that Jesus wasn't really the son of God though, right?" Crowley mused, not slowing the steady rhythm of his hand. "I mean, Maria was supposedly a virgin, and then, whoops, bun in the oven. Must be divine intervention. That's awfully convenient, isn't it?"  
  
"Shut.. up.. Crowley..", Aziraphale half scolded, half begged, really not in the mood for that kind of discussion right now. Every inch of his skin was tingling with raw excitement, like nothing he had ever felt before, nothing he had a name for.  
  
"Fine, I got sidetracked."  
  
Crowley's lips were sealed to his again, giving the heat radiating from his core a delicious new depth. Aziraphale whimpered, pushing against the demon's tongue in his mouth, the tension building inside him seeking an outlet -  
  
When suddenly Crowley let him go, allowing some distance between them, barely a foot, but Aziraphale's body trembled in protest against the unwelcome separation.  
  
"Look at me", the demon ordered softly, forearms resting loosely on his shoulders, hands interlaced behind his head. Aziraphale did not even realise his eyes were clenched shut. He forced them open, meeting the unflinching glow of the demon's gaze that seemed to illuminate his entire face. The angel had never seen his friend like this, so hungry and, at the same time, full of calm intent. It made his breath catch in his throat, even before Crowley's words had a chance to.  
  
"I want you." The demon's fingers were stroking the nape of his neck. "Right now."  
  
Aziraphale did not get a chance to react, not that he would have known how to, as the demon took his hand.  
  
"Come on."  
  
"Uh.. where do you.. should we..", the angel mumbled as he was being pulled along.  
  
"This will do."  
  
Crowley stopped in front of his rolltop desk, briefly surveying the hodgepodge of items littered across it in exasperation before making a wide sweeping gesture. A beige cloud of books, waxed paper, magnifying glasses and other trinkets flew up towards the ceiling and then a few feet to the side, about to settle on the floor in an impressively neat pile.  
  
"Wait!" Aziraphale stopped one of the books in mid-air, carefully floating it over to its dedicated shelf.  
  
"Dickens", he shyly smiled at the demon's raised eyebrow. "It's signed. By Dickens."  
  
"I've got some other dickens for you to worry about."  
  
With that, Crowley lifted him as if he weighed nothing at all, settling him down on the desk before leaning in to kiss him again, harder and more eagerly, devouring his mouth in a compelling demonstration of what was to come.  
  
Aziraphale's head swam as he was losing himself in Crowleys's lips, Crowley's large hands on his waist, his thighs, and still, he froze when he felt those hands nudge his knees apart, allowing the demon to stand between them. On pure instinct, the angel pulled away from the kiss, catching his breath, sweating out of every pore. This was going too fast. And yet, judging by the ball of heat pulsing low in his stomach, not fast enough.  
  
He shifted anxiously, suddenly aware of the hard edge of the rolled-up tambour cutting into his back. As if reading his mind, Crowley stopped and withdrew a little. He looked around, grabbing the green cushion from his armchair and inspecting it in disdain.  
  
"Really, a fringed pillow?"  
  
Aziraphale could not help but grin.  
  
"You used to have a fringe. And let's not mention your eighties moustache."  
  
"What do you mean? It was fabulous! Come here."  
  
Crowley wrapped an arm around his middle, pressing their bodies together as he arranged the cushion behind his back and carefully pushed him into the soft padding, not releasing his waist. With their noses touching, Aziraphale finally noticed the demon's uneven breath on his lips, noticed how hard he was, his voice thick with lust.  
  
"This ok?"  
  
Clearly, Crowley wasn't just enquiring about the suitability of his back support, which the angel was grateful for indeed, nervously tugging at the tassels. He had been so preoccupied with his own body's reactions he had barely paid attention to anything else, and now he wasn't sure he could handle processing Crowley's arousal on top of his own, both mentally, and very much physically. He had never been sick, but this was what a bout of fever had to feel like.  
  
"Uh", he bit his lip, trying to stop his voice from wobbling, not sure if his intention was to slow down, or the exact opposite, "should we not - .. get undressed.. or -"  
  
The demon tilted his head to the side, eyeing him with the tormented patience of a dog having to balance a snack on the tip of its nose.  
  
"Right."  
  
He leaned away just enough to be able to wave his other hand, the one that wasn't holding Aziraphale in a tight grip, in front of the angel's face, snipping his fingers. That kind of flourish wasn't at all necessary in order to work a miracle, but the demon liked doing it with style.  
  
"Happy?"  
  
Aziraphale shivered, glancing down to find that he was now wearing his birthday suit, or would be, had he actually been born. He gaped at his friend, scandalised.  
  
"You cheated!"  
  
"Of course I cheated. I’m a demon. What did you expect?"  
  
"But you -", the angel pointed reproachfully. Crowley smirked, still very much dressed. There was a smouldering edge to his playful tone.  
  
"Do I really need to do _all_ of the work?"  
  
Both of the demon's warm hands slid up over Aziraphale's naked back, making him feel the light caress all the way down to his toes. He was suddenly acutely aware that he had been too shy to touch the demon, unless shamelessly clinging to him to keep himself steady counted. Or maybe _'shy'_ wasn't quite the right word. Maybe he still liked to indulge himself in the fantasy that if Eve had not reached for the apple so gingerly, if she had been simply resting under the tree, as you do, and the apple had simply fallen into her mouth, and she had eaten it almost by accident, because it was the most tempting thing she had ever tasted, maybe then she would not have been banned from the garden, forever.  
  
But at this stage it was probably too late to try and un-know what desire felt like.  
  
Tentatively, the angel stretched out a hand to touch Crowley's cheek, like closing a circuit, tracing a path of tiny sparks from his temple down his cheekbone, to the corner of his mouth. Somehow he did not expect those snake eyes to drift shut, the quiet little sigh as their lips found each other again. Aziraphale did not expect that this would be his favourite part, the soft, unhurried kisses as his fingers inched along the demon's neck and chest to his waistcoat, undoing the buttons one by one before slipping the fabric from his shoulders. His fingertips were buzzing with delight at the burst of textures as they slipped underneath Crowley's shirt: the pleasant scratchiness of cotton, the soft prickle of hair and the smoothness of skin twitching underneath his touch.  
  
"You're so old-fashioned", the demon snickered, lifting his arms to allow Aziraphale to peel off his shirt.  
  
"Well, you know me."  
  
"Yes. I know you."  
  
The angel pulled him as close as was humanly possible, or rather, as was practicable for two long-term owners of near-human bodies. He wrapped himself around Crowley's frame, melting into his skin, the tingle of his hands, the gentle brushing and tugging of their lips. He felt light as a feather, as if Crowley's arms around him were the only thing stopping him from floating away. They were hovering in this beautiful, shaky little spot where whatever happens next is still up in the air, but full of colours and possibilities.  
  
The angel could have happily stayed there forever, Apocalypse or not, were it not for the cold, hard metal buckle of the demon's belt pressing into his erection and shooting maddening flashes of heat through his body. Crowley seemed well aware of this, rocking his hips forward ever so slightly to increase the friction, until Aziraphale jerked and gasped, the scales tipping overwhelmingly in favour of progressing with the plan.  
  
"I'm ready..", he whispered, responding to the question Crowley never asked, but was obviously waiting for an answer to.  
  
"You sure?" The demon's voice pitched lower, resonating in Aziraphale's stomach. "It's okay to stop, we can just drink and talk or -"  
  
"I don't want to stop."  
  
Their lips were touching lightly with every word. Holding a candid conversation in this manner was the sweetest thing.  
  
"And what do you think am I going to do to you, exactly?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Why are you - ?"  
  
"Cause I'm sure as hell not doing anything you don't want."  
  
Aziraphale could feel the blood pulse hot in his temples. So this was payback for all the teasing he had submitted the demon to over the past few weeks. He licked his lips, which, by extension, meant licking Crowley's lips, too.  
  
"I think you are going to.. put your - ", the angel swallowed, unable to find a fitting word in his very British vocabulary, ".. inside me -"  
  
"Glad we agree", the demon breathed, briefly pressing their mouths together in a firm, heated kiss. The angel could swear he felt him shudder for a fraction of a second before he leaned away, just far enough for Aziraphale to be caught in the hypnotic pull of his reptile eyes. "You know, this can be painful, for humans, but with us, we could just -"  
  
"No", Aziraphale shook his head in determination, "no more miracles. I want to know what it's like for humans.. that's the whole point."  
  
"Right. Of course. I forgot."  
  
There was a subtle edge to the demon's tone as he straightened up, but Aziraphale did not get a chance to contemplate whether he had said something wrong.  
  
"Got any lube handy?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Thought so. One last miracle, then. I'm going to use my fingers first."  
  
The angel could not convince his breath to leave his throat, or his eyes to leave Crowley's hands as they opened the small bottle that had appeared out of nowhere, coating his long fingers in a clear, viscous substance. With Crowley not touching him, he suddenly felt very exposed, and not just because he was literally stark bollock naked.  
  
"I mean", he tried with forced breeziness, "is this likely to hurt more than when we took a self-guided trip round Mount Vesuvius on the wrong day?"  
  
Crowley seemed to give the intended joke some serious thought.  
  
"Er, probably not. But then again", he put the bottle down on top of the desk, a soft clicking sound just behind Aziraphale's left ear, before pulling him a little lower by his waist, "I don't mind a bit of lava, personally. Put your hand on my shoulder."  
  
It was good advice, as the angel discovered when Crowley touched him where he was pretty sure the head office had never intended him to be touched. He winced, muscles tensing defiantly against his own expressed will.  
  
"Angel -"  
  
"Are you going to.. tell me I need to.. loosen up a bit.. as usual?", Aziraphale wheezed, gripping onto his friend.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, new context, but definitely still applicable."  
  
".. I'm trying.."  
  
The angel took a deep breath in, then out, as Crowley rubbed his index finger in a little circle before pushing it in, softly kissing his upper lip at the same time. Nothing he had experienced on earth so far could have prepared Aziraphale for this weird new experience of being touched from the inside. He leaned against Crowley's mouth and closed his eyes to hone in on the slick, hard pressure moving deeper into his body, waiting for this to feel as enticing as the other incredible things they had done so far, but -  
  
"Does this hurt?"  
  
".. no, it's.. strange.."  
  
"Uh-huh. Not very angelic, is it?"  
  
".. do people.. enjoy this..?"  
  
"Have a bit of patience."

Crowley distracted him with his mouth as he pushed in another warm finger, carefully bending and moving his slim digits inside the angel with what felt like purposeful exploration. Though Aziraphale wasn't quite sure what he was aiming for, they could as well move on to the main course and -  
  
He cried out in shock as a dazzling burst of pleasure snapped through him, slicking his skin with sweat and making his head spin.  
  
"Huh", the demon snickered fondly, stroking his jawline with the other hand, "looks like they really _did_ issue you with a fully functioning body."  
  
The angel stared at him, utterly gobsmacked. And then Crowley did it again, very deliberately this time, cupping his cheek and holding his gaze from just inches away as he brushed the spot inside him that caused his entire frame to hum and convulse.  
  
"What are you -", Aziraphale's heartbeat was coming out in breathless pants, "what is -"  
  
Crowley grinned. His expression was the same mixture of fascination and quiet delight usually reserved for watching the angel indulge in his favourite dessert, or listen to his favourite concerto. Only now it was unashamedly dripping with lust.  
  
"I'm not sure, actually", he was sliding and flexing his fingers methodically now, not taking his eyes off the angel's unguarded, twitching face, "at first I assumed one of our lot came up with this neat little feature, but then I thought, making this a whole bunch of fun just to declare it a sin, that kind of dick move can only be God's work."  
  
".. again -", Aziraphale moaned, helplessly clenching around the demon's skilled fingers, ".. with the.. inappropriately.. timed.. theological.. debating -"  
  
Only this time, Crowley did not let him off so easily.  
  
"Funny though, your side making sure that you could enjoy this, isn't it?"  
  
"Ah -!"  
  
"You like this, don't you, Angel?"  
  
The serpent's eyes flared up dangerously, narrow pupils flickering like the tendrils of a black flame.  
  
"Oh, this is gonna be good.."  
  
Aziraphale's knuckles went white where he was clutching Crowley's shoulder, his other hand gripping aimlessly at smooth, unyielding wood, hoping to find something to hold on to as his muscles were turning to hot, sticky, blissful goo. Maybe this wasn't such a bright idea after all, handing such uninhibited control over his body to a literal devil in the sheets. He could not handle the scalding blend of fear and arousal that realisation brought.  
  
"Crow -", he stammered, not sure what he was going to say, not even knowing if this was too much or not enough. His mind was scorched empty of all reason.  
  
The demon made the choice for him when he sucked in his breath, jaw tightening, then stilled himself, leaning in to press their heated faces together.  
  
"I'm sorry, got carried away a bit there.."  
  
The angel gave a little mewl, half relieved, half disappointed, both aching and scared for the stimulation to continue. For a moment they shared the same air, it almost felt like they shared the same skin.  
  
"..Aziraphale", Crowley murmured, stroking through the angel's hair. He did not say his name very often, and to be fair, it was a bit of a mouthful, but hearing it now made the angel's stomach flutter, adding to the nerve-wracking tension in his body. "Don't you ever feel.. repulsed by me?"  
  
Crowley's fingers were no longer inside him when their eyes met again. They were reaching behind him to find the bottle of lube instead. The assertiveness in the demon's movements was in such contrast with the vulnerability flicking across his face that it should have startled Aziraphale, but there was only space for one single track left in his mind. The angel did not have to think about it even for a fraction of a second, not even after the stark reminder of his friend's demonic nature.  
  
"No."  
  
The dark, searing blaze in Crowley's eyes had subsided, though it remained simmering beneath the surface, alluring enough to make Aziraphale's pulse crescendo as the demon proceeded to unbuckle his belt.  
  
"But -", the angel muttered in a last-minute bout of first-time jitters, even though everything in him was screaming for Crowley to please just hurry up, ".. are you sure the desk will -.. it's early nineteenth century.. I had it custom made -"  
  
"I remember", the demon huffed a breathless little laugh, busy with something below his waistline Aziraphale decided he did not need to see right now. "You keep telling me.. how they used to make things to last, in the good old days."  
  
"And they still would..", the angel wound two shaky hands around Crowley's neck, "had you not.. pitched IKEA to your lot."  
  
"Come on now", the demon finally returned his full attention to Aziraphale, "you know you like those tiny Swedish meatballs."  
  
Crowley was still smiling when his eyes slid down the angel's face. He tilted himself forward, very deliberately, until their noses touched, then their lips. The demon's hand came to rest on the base of Aziraphale's skull, lightly but firmly, holding him to the kiss as it grew deeper and more sensual, until it was heady like ancient rum, like a warm blanket wrapped around his senses, drawing the angel's attention away from Crowley's other hand on his hip.  
  
The demon did not break the kiss as he entered him, did not even change its pace, making the new sensation an extension of his tongue sliding into Aziraphale's mouth. This was going much more smoothly than the angel had expected, probably because he was already desperately turned on. Still, he could not hold back a little groan against Crowley's lips, hands twitching in the demon's hair. He could have easily wiped the pain away, like raindrops from a window pane, but he did not want to numb any of this, not one moment of the demon pressing inside him inch by inch. He deserved for it to hurt in exchange for this mesmerising sensory kaleidoscope that made him almost giddy, his entire being concentrated around every instance of Crowley's touch.  
  
Until the demon gave a stifled exhale, coming to a natural halt. Even in his barely coherent state Aziraphale could tell how much he was holding back, just by the way Crowley's nails were digging into his bare skin and the brief shudder across his shoulders. By the hoarse restraint in the demon's voice as he released his lips.  
  
"How.. does this feel?"  
  
Crowley's eyes reaching inside him was what ultimately broke him, making his brain short-circuit.  
  
"Ng.."  
  
"I'm guessing that translates to 'ineffable'", the demon chuckled with just a hint of smugness. Crowley was so deep inside him he could feel his tiniest movements like jolts of electricity, that little laugh, the quickened rise and fall of his chest, even the words his mouth formed. The angel's body was throbbing in response, desperate for Crowley to start moving with purpose, but the demon did not seem to be in any hurry.  
  
"You know, this lunchtime, when you were teasing me, with your stupid ice cream.."  
  
Crowley made a show of stretching out his tongue.  
  
".. this is what I was thinking."

Aziraphale's mind was wiped blank as the demon licked his face, leisurely dragging his hot, wet tongue from his chin all the way up to his temple.  
  
"Mmh.. now _this_ is better than waffles."  
  
The angel’s throat formed an indefinable guttural noise as his insides clenched, heat radiating into every cell.  
  
"Please -", he sobbed before he could bite his lip. Helpfully, Crowley did that part for him, playfully enough not to hurt him, but hard enough to give him goosebumps not just on the outside of his skin, but on the inside, too.  
  
"Alright", the demon's fingers were on his thighs, moving him down a little, arranging him as he wished to, "wrap your legs around me. Like this."  
  
Crowley gripped a hand around the upper edge of the desk for leverage, right next to Aziraphale's head, placing the other on the small of his back.  
  
"You're beautiful."  
  
The angel did not get a chance to process those incongruous words, or how they were uttered, the barely audible crack in Crowley's voice, when the demon finally started to move inside him. The first careful, explorative thrust already had him gasping, his body hungrily soaking up the pleasure it was promised, and then a few thrusts later Crowley rediscovered that sweet spot, nearly drowning him in a wave of pure bliss.  
  
He kept hitting it over and over again at a measured pace, licking Aziraphale tongue in time with each stroke, leaving the angel no choice but to moan into his mouth. Aziraphale never knew he was capable of making noises like that, at a volume like that, but he was way past the point of embarrassment, what a silly human sentiment, anyway. He was hopelessly drunk on a cocktail of dopamine and saliva, moving towards a very different point, uncertain what exactly he would discover there, but ready as hell to find out.  
  
He could feel his stomach starting to tighten when Crowley changed the angle ever so slightly and slowed down until the sensation was exhilarating, but not sharp enough to make his toes curl, drawing him away from the treat dangled in front of his nose a second ago.  
  
"Wha -", the angel protested feverishly, freeing his mouth, "why -.. are you -.."  
  
"I don't want this.. to end..", Crowley muttered through gritted teeth, covering his face and neck in kisses, "not yet.."  
  
"Oh..", Aziraphale sobbed, burning up, fingers helplessly clenched in the demon's hair, "oh God -"  
  
"No!", the mutter turned into a hiss as he felt sharp teeth nearly breaking the skin at his collarbone, "you're not.. going to.. say her name.. while I'm fucking you.."  
  
"Ah!"  
  
"You will say.. _my_ name.."  
  
The demon was rocking into him harder now, more urgently, but never withdrawing too far, as if desperately not wanting to leave his body.  
  
"Yes -.."  
  
"Yes what?"  
  
"Crow -.. hah -.."  
  
Aziraphale was delirious, and at the same time, his senses had never been sharper, as if he could feel every line on Crowley's fingertips where they touched him, breathe Crowley's breath inside his own throat, soak him up with every atom of his being.  
  
He had no idea how long the demon made him hover in this state of unspeakable pleasure, never taking him too close to what he instinctively knew would be the point of no return. In a far corner of his mind, which seemed to be floating somewhere outside of his body, the angel was wondering if Crowley was so good at this because he had done it many times before; or because the demon knew him so well, all of his little noises and reactions, that he could play his body like a fiddle. Aziraphale was wondering why he desperately wanted it to be the latter.  
  
Of course, Crowley realised when he was just one deafening heartbeat away from going insane.  
  
"I'm going to make you come now", the demon whispered in his ear, almost reverently. "Don't.. try and.. rationalise this. Just.. let it happen."  
  
Aziraphale only managed a little nod in response, trembling uncontrollably, skin burning with need.  
  
Crowley gave him an unexpectedly gentle kiss as he reached between them, pressing deep inside him as his hand moved confidently between the angel's legs.  
  
Within a few dazzling moments Aziraphale's blood had been replaced with hot, sweet syrup before everything inside him contracted and unfurled in a blinding surge of heat, every nerve ending snapping into place and overloading. He was only vaguely aware of his own scream, of Crowley sucking on his bottom lip throughout, catapulted somewhere far, far away, into outer space, maybe one of those nebulas that Crowley helped creating.  
  
He was floating, weightless – or maybe he was falling.. All of a sudden, the perfect bliss turned to panic, something was wrong, he could not feel his limbs, he had been discorporated, or maybe worse, maybe he had fallen, like Crowley. Maybe someone was watching, and punishment was imminent. Aziraphale pushed against the demon's body, trying to get away, hopelessly overwhelmed by the mad rush of hormones through his system, all those new sensations his overstrung senses could not fully process.  
  
Crowley did not back off though. The demon wrapped his arms around him even tighter, firmly holding him against his chest. One of his hands was rubbing slow, reassuring circles on Aziraphale's back and the demon's voice was low and calming in his ear.  
  
"Shhh.. It's ok.. you're ok.. just breathe."  
  
It took a few wobbly moments for the shaking in the angel's body to start subsiding, and then as swiftly as it came the panic vanished, leaving nothing but an all-encompassing warmth in its wake, an almost unearthly feeling of completion. Aziraphale sniffed in relief, giving up struggling and leaning into Crowley's comfortingly steady frame, arms circling his waist, nose pressed to the demon's damp neck. He focused on the flow of air in and out of his lungs, Crowley-scented air, less erratic by the second, on the wonderful soft throbbing in every cell. On the demon's lips touching the top of his head. He realised he was smiling, and at the same time, embarrassment was starting to creep in now and he wasn't sure he could ever look his friend in the eye again after this, after the way he reacted -  
  
"You were trying to rationalise, weren't you?" Crowley whispered into his hair, "I did warn you.."  
  
Aziraphale chuckled involuntarily, and then he was no longer nervous about facing his friend, so he did. Crowley was smiling, too, a smile so genuine and untainted by sarcasm it looked foreign on his face, almost as if it had wandered there by mistake.  
  
"So this was really the first time.. you ever.."  
  
Thankfully, the demon chose not to finish the sentence as he raised his hand to inspect the beads of cloudy, viscous liquid on his fingers. He chose to do something much more inappropriate instead. Aziraphale watched in breathless shock as Crowley slowly licked his fingers, one by one, sucking on the tips while looking right at him, completely unashamed.  
  
"You do taste heavenly."  
  
The angel's stomach surprised him with a little twitch, he really did not think it was physically possible for his body to continue being responsive. It made him suddenly realise that Crowley was still inside him, still very much hard.  
  
"Are you.. not going to..", he mumbled, only now discovering the full extent of the demon's patience with him.  
  
"Yeah..", Crowley agreed, sounding strangely distracted, as if this was no more than an afterthought, and a sad one at that, "come here."  
  
The demon took his mouth again, and nothing, not the slight discomfort of Crowley pulling out of him, nor the sinfully salty taste on his tongue, nor even the heart-stopping intimacy of feeling him shiver as his hand got to work again could distract Aziraphale from the strange certainty that this was their last kiss.  
  
He held perfectly still, letting this stunning scene unfold as Crowley pressed into his lips, gasping, muttering something incomprehensible, before on a sudden impulse Aziraphale reached up to run a hand through the demon's hair, like he knew he had always wanted to. It was the softest, most innocent touch, but it worked like a spark in a barrel of gunpowder. Crowley groaned and shuddered against him, clashing their lips together as hard as if aiming to bury himself all the way inside his skull.  
  
Their mouths stayed glued to each other even after the demon's breathing slowed down, after his muscles relaxed and his free hand on Aziraphale's neck no longer formed claws. They were caught in some kind of absurd game of chicken, neither wanting to be the first one to back off. Until, eventually, Crowley did, very slowly and with difficulty, as if having to fight against actual glue when he peeled his lips from the angel's mouth.  
  
"Are you ok?"  
  
"Yeah", Aziraphale whispered, even though he really wasn't all that sure, but Crowley seemed to take him at face value.  
  
"Ok, good. Great. I'll, uh -"  
  
The demon took his hands off him all at once and stepped back, then gave him a little pat on the shoulder, which not only felt inappropriately casual, but also like a rather un-demon-esque kind of gesture.  
  
"I'll make us a cuppa."  
  
Something else Crowley would never usually say, or do.  
  
Aziraphale watched in confusion as the demon turned around, quickly pulling up his trousers and picking the rest of his clothes from the floor before walking out into the kitchenette. A moment later his head re-appeared in the doorway.  
  
"Oh, let me, um -"  
  
He snipped his fingers. Aziraphale did not need to check to know that he was fully dressed. And not just that. The sweat, the stickiness, every physical trace of the encounter had been lifted from his skin, as if this had been nothing more than a late-night book club meeting.  
  
"There."  
  
Crowley gave him a tentative half-smile that did not quite reach his eyes, disappearing out of sight.  
  
Aziraphale felt a little chill in his chest, despite a few layers of clothing. He leaned back for a moment, closing his eyes, listening to all the noises around him. The soft murmur of passing conversations outside of his window, punctuated by a distant siren. The melodic clinking of metal and porcelain coming from the kitchenette. His own heartbeat that was almost inconspicuous now. Almost. Eventually, the shrill whistle of the kettle.

He finally slid off his long-suffering desk, feeling a bit wobbly on his feet as he went to investigate what Crowley was up to. He did not quite trust the demon around his fine china.  
  
He could tell Crowley noticed him come in, despite being occupied with pouring the water, just by the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. The demon was fully dressed, jacket, shades and all, but it seemed he had forgotten to fix his hair. It was still the same tousled mess that Aziraphale had left it in, a welcome reminder that this had not all been some kind of wet, Freud-inspired dream.  
  
"Here", Crowley walked over to hand him a cup and saucer before retiring back to his own cup on the countertop, putting as much distance between them as the tiny room allowed. "So.. was this what you wanted?"  
  
"T-tea?"  
  
"No, not the tea, you fool."  
  
Aziraphale opened his mouth, then realised that he was already nodding, as if his body was still responding to Crowley without taking a detour to ask his brain for its opinion on the matter.  
  
"Okay. Good."  
  
Actually, the angel happened to disagree with his body here. It wasn't what he had intended. It had exceeded his expectations in every possible way, as well as a few impossible ones. He would need another six thousand years to process it all, and yet, some aspects were already shaping up much clearer than he wanted them to.  
  
He peeked at Crowley, who seemed preoccupied with similar thoughts, staring into his cup, brows twitching in concentration. They would probably have looked like a right pair of muppets to the casual observer right now.  
  
"Did you", the angel cleared his throat, "forget that you don't drink tea, by any chance?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
Crowley looked down for a moment longer, then, with sudden resolve, he raised the cup to his lips and gulped the hot liquid down in one, steam escaping from his nose and mouth.  
  
"Gotta go."  
  
By the time Aziraphale had put down his own cup and run outside Crowley had already disappeared inside the Bentley parked right on the double yellows in front of his shop, as usual.  
  
"Crowley, wait!"  
  
The demon leaned out, resting his elbows on the roof of the car.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Is.. everything going to be alright?"  
  
"Yeah. Sure. Everything's great. Apart from the Apocalypse, I guess."  
  
A few passers-by turned their heads, shooting them curious looks.  
  
"But I have some ideas. I'll speak to you later. Ciao!"  
  
Aziraphale stared after the tail lights until they disappeared around the corner in an unnecessarily sharp bend. He suddenly realised that he was still holding the saucer in one hand. It was raining again, and the little dish was filling up with water.  
  
The angel shook his head, shook out the saucer and returned to the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did that.. work at all?
> 
> I'm afraid I might have pushed poor Aziraphale too far, but I just love bringing out Crowley's demon side 😈. Aziraphale is not really innocent in this story though, just inexperienced, so I hope he can take it.
> 
> I have the next two chapters planned out but it might take me a while to update. I've been writing a few things for FebuWhump 2021 and really getting a taste for angsty Crowley/Aziraphale, so I will be mostly focusing on that this month, check out the series if you like: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141988
> 
> EDIT: Nope, looks like my brain decided to give up on Febuwhump for now and continue writing this story along with some random PWP bits, so next chapter should be up shortly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they talk..
> 
> I'm not gonna lie, this chapter has turned out shamelessly sentimental. I tried to keep the story light-hearted and humorous, I really did, but the screaming (melo)drama queen in me has clawed her way out of my brain and I've gone off the deep end in this chapter.. Hope you brought wine to go with this dripping cheese fest!
> 
> There are some angsty bits here too and one brief instance of graphic injury, but nothing too serious in my opinion. I have adjusted the content warnings flag to be on the safe side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Sway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway) for beta reading this chapter and providing much-needed reassurance. All remaining faults and inconsistencies with this chapter are, of course, my own.
> 
> Also, I'm very grateful to all the lovely people on the Good Omens Bingo Server for ongoing support and encouragement.
> 
> NB: I have taken some lines straight out of the show for this chapter and re-used them in new contexts. I don't have ownership of those lines.

For the first time in his existence, Aziraphale was rather angry at books. Days he had spent with his fingers hovering over parchment and birch bark and wax-covered wood before the invention of paper made reading a much less tactile experience. Nights he had spent under the glow of resinous pitch and kerosene and tungsten. Centuries he had wasted studying Ovid and Lady Murasaki and Chrétien de Troyes, not to mention Shakespeare and Brontë and Hugo. And none of it, not a single mark in clay, not one streak of lead or speck of ink had the decency to prepare him for what it truly felt like to be in love.

He had always enjoyed the fanciful literary flourishes in romance books, but surely being in love couldn't actually feel like _this_. Not this hot, tangled, trembling mess of aimlessly firing synapses, leaving you incapable of holding a single coherent thought, or a pen in your sweaty fingers. Not this idling away of hours tracing the shape of someone's lips with your memory, dissecting every word they ever uttered. Not the unstoppable, restless pacing without ever touching the floor with your feet. Not nausea at even the concept of food, because your stomach is full of air bubbles that can't seem to stop popping. Not staring at your phone with bated breath, ready to explode if it rings, and implode if it doesn't. 

Surely, something that existed for the sole purpose of encouraging people to be fruitful and procreate was not meant to feel like it was going to kill you in the slowest, most torturous way by pulling out your entrails inch by inch with a dessert fork. Because that would seem like a major design flaw in The Great Plan. Surely, it was not meant to feel all that different from _love_ , a disposition at the core of the angel's very being. But _love_ was a tranquil, turquoise river full of merry little fish happily going about their everyday fish business, and being _in love_ was the unexpected, sputtering, blindingly white waterfall that Aziraphale had tumbled down without even a paddle to hold on to.

When exactly had it all started, his own, much more trivial fall? Was it the sixties, or the forties, or the eighteen hundreds, when the sheer idea of being stuck on Earth without the demon around had him seething with anger, a previously unknown raging heat inside his chest? How long had it been bubbling under the surface until he could no longer ignore it, and once he could no longer ignore it, how long had he spent convincing himself that it was an inconsequential sensory response caused by a mixture of familiarity and curiosity, a fluke of his physical body, something he simply needed to get out of his system?

Well, that had gone about as well as the Challenger launch. In typical Crowley fashion, the demon was so shamelessly sprawled out inside his system now there was no space left for anything else. When tallying up the receipts at the end of the day that followed _the night,_ Aziraphale was surprised to find that he had overcharged three of his customers, undercharged five, accepted Thai baht instead of pounds in one transaction, accidentally sold 'Crime and Punishment' instead of 'Pride and Prejudice' to a young lad looking for a Valentine's Day gift, and also inexplicably acquired a tome named 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. Which, thumbing through it, he realised was not, in fact, a book on the history of the film noir. 

It all bore a rather sobering testimony to the frazzled cable spaghetti that was the angel's mind in the days that followed _the night_. Every time he heard the door creak his heart cracked open, too, only to be slammed painfully shut when another not-Crowley entered the shop. Not that he had a genuine reason to expect to see his friend again so soon, but the demon had been known to hang around the shop on occasion. Rather frequent occasions, actually. With human sins pretty much taking care of themselves, fuelled by algorithms, Crowley was restless. People didn't need an old snake like him, he once told Aziraphale, when they had Instagram running on Python, not that the angel had any clue what that meant. 

Sometimes, Crowley would leisurely stroll into the shop, and they would not even talk, nor acknowledge each other explicitly, there was no need. Aziraphale would go about his daily shopkeeper business, and out of the corner of his mind he would watch Crowley inspect his new acquisitions, or listen to him strike up random conversations. The demon seemed to draw a certain mischievous amusement from giving wildly inappropriate book recommendations based on hilariously incorrect plot summaries to unsuspecting customers. But at times he would get into a surprisingly heated and long-winded debate with some King's College professor, discussing the colour symbolism in 'Lord Of The Flies' or the finer legal points of the deal Marlowe's Doctor Faustus struck with Lucifer. For someone who claimed to never read, Crowley knew an awful lot about books. 

The demon had always fancied himself as dancing on the bleeding edge of modernity, whatever 'modernity' meant at any given point, but Aziraphale knew they were the same, deep down, equally old and old-fashioned. Still, he should have put a stop to Crowley using the shop for his own nefarious purposes, both as a small business owner and a principality, but he wasn't all that effective at either, quite deliberately so. At the end of his visits, Crowley would usually disappear just as suddenly as he came, leaving just enough of his scent behind to last the angel until the end of the day, and sometimes when closing up the shop Aziraphale would find a tiny cupcake waiting for him on a shelf.

In the days that followed _the night_ , Aziraphale would have happily given away another flaming sword, or ten, just to have Crowley walk into his shop like that.

He could have just picked up the phone and called, of course, but what was he going to say? 'Oh, hello Crowley, my dear old friend, remember how I suggested that we have casual intercourse, and you did warn me it was a bad idea, well, lo and behold, you were actually right about something, for once, because it felt anything but casual, and made me realise that I am quite definitely and very stupidly in love with you, like I always thought only a human could be, with another human, and now I have no clue what to do about this little impasse, what are your thoughts on the matter?'

Yeah, that probably wouldn't go down so well. It had been made perfectly clear that the sex was an arrangement, between friends, like many of their other arrangements before, a little game, at most, another fascinating human habit two bored superhuman entities could harmlessly indulge in. The angel couldn't just go and change the terms of the deal willy-nilly after it was all done and dusted, that was something the _other side_ specialised in. It wasn't even like Crowley had _wanted_ it, the demon had others to fraternise with, he’d said so himself, much more exciting and experienced bedmates, clearly, and if he wasn't all that keen on sleeping together, he sure as sin would not be interested in the silly lovey-dovey stuff. 

Though things had been said, in the twilit heat of the moment, surprising things, but it would be misplaced to attach any particular significance to them in the cold light of day. No, it would be much better if Aziraphale simply stopped his mind from constantly sneaking back, not even to the main event, but the before, and the after, and all the little in-betweens, Crowley's eyes in-between kisses, the breathless pulses of intimacy in-between jolts of pleasure. 

He just had to learn to live with it, like all the other minor inconveniences of life on earth, the rain and the hunger and the Northern Line during rush hour. He had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it, or rather, he had to keep working at that desk, which proved quite the challenge. Well, he only needed to stick it out for eleven more years. _Eleven years_! Every time Aziraphale thought of the Apocalypse his hand slid up to rub at his throat, needing a tangible reminder that he was still breathing, that he still resided in this strangest, most frustrating, most beautiful of all dimensions, the only one where an angel and a demon could peacefully coexist, and sometimes catch dinner and a show together.

It was a relief, but the most heart-thudding, stomach-clenching, nerve-shattering kind of relief when Crowley finally called, a few days or centuries later, sounding perfectly normal, insofar as anything about the demon could be deemed _normal_. It made Aziraphale want to scream into the receiver, and yet he feared he would not be able to make a single sound. But then his mouth did respond, on pure muscle memory, yes, of course, he could come over to see whatever Crowley wanted to show him, something to do with the Antichrist.

He arrived at the demon's flat at just the arranged time. Or rather, he arrived twenty minutes early and took a patient stroll around Mayfair, admiring the blossoming front gardens, swarming with butterflies. Then he rang the bell at just the arranged time. There was no answer. Aziraphale only hesitated for a moment before letting himself in. He had owned a key to the flat for quite some time now so that he could look after his friend's plants whenever the demon was away on business. Crowley could have simply purchased a drip system, of course, or found some type of miraculous solution, but he insisted that his private rain forest thrived on conversation, and Aziraphale did not mind coming over in the evenings with a book under his arm. He enjoyed reading out loud, and it was no easy feat to find a willing audience to sit through his rendition of the unabridged 'War and Peace', including all of the intriguing annotations that Tolstoy had kindly written into the margins for him.

It was not an issue to use his own key, then. That's what he would have done under normal circumstances, and the official line was that circumstances were perfectly normal. He was going to keep walking that line no matter what.

As soon as he entered the flat Aziraphale could make out the soft burble of the shower, that must have been why Crowley had missed the doorbell. The demon did show off his new shower to him once, just after he had it fitted, it was an impressively water-wasting tropical-waterfall type of affair. Picturing Crowley's naked frame under those gushing streams of steamy water made the angel feel in need of a shower himself, a cold one, preferably. He was glad to find a distraction waiting for him in the office, his eyes going wide as he surveyed the scene. 

Crowley liked to keep his flat neat, a 'show house at night' level of neat, but now it had the air of a Tate Modern installation. The floor, the unnecessarily pompous Louis VIX style desk, every single surface in the spacious room was littered with wires, voltmeters, motherboards, and all manner of electrical tools and trinkets, most of them unfamiliar to the angel. Obviously, Crowley had been keeping busy with devil knows what, either that or he had gone insane. Aziraphale tiptoed across the minefield that used to be immaculate grey laminate, into the hallway, eager to say hello to his photosynthesising friends rather than trying to make sense of this mess.

He found the plants looking a little sad and droopy, it seemed they had not been watered for a few days. The Monstera sported a light brown spot on one of its heart-shaped leaves. 

"Don't worry", Aziraphale winked conspiratorially, running a soft hand across its shiny green skin and watching the blemish dissolve underneath his palm, "I'll save you from his wrath."

He was stood there, lost in thought, fingers gently stroking the leaf, when -

"Aziraphale?"

The angel turned around and the world stopped turning, and then he knew with the kind of deafening certainty he had not often experienced since leaving the garden that nothing would ever be the same again.

Crowley must have been aware of his presence for a little while, he was dry and dressed, his hair was perfect, everything about him was utter perfection. There was a perfectly shiny smirk plastered across his face.

"You're early."

"I don't -", Aziraphale fumbled the pocket watch out of his waistcoat, "you said _three_."

Crowley glanced down at his own wrist, and for a moment the mask slipped and his brows furrowed.

"Oh.. it stopped."

There was a hint of resentment as he looked up again, as if it was Aziraphale's fault, somehow, as if the angel had gone and broken his watch, or maybe time itself, something so old that had worked so well for so long, and now it was in pieces.

It was the briefest of beats, yet it dragged, like the second hand of a clock that was ticking too slowly, scraping across the thin layer of Aziraphale's composure.

"Battery must have burnt out", the demon concluded, carelessly turning away, too close for comfort yet too far to touch, if that was even an option. "Come on. I'll show you what I've been working on."

Aziraphale followed him back into the office, trying his best not to trip over the scramble of dismantled equipment underneath his feet. 

"What's all this hotchpotch, Crowley? Is everything okay? I've never seen -"

He decided to stay near the falcon, at a safe distance.

"Oh, everything's great! You know how the head office has this dickish habit of tapping into my gear when I'm in the middle of a live show?"

"You might have mentioned it, a couple of hundred times."

"Well, the bar stewards are gonna regret this now, because.."

The demon stopped in front of his wall-mounted TV, making a caricatural voilà gesture.

".. I've found a way to reverse hack them, so we can have our own secret window into hell, so to say -"

He pointed to the wild jumble of loose cables dangling from the device, rambling on with ever-increasing momentum, his mind galloping ahead at a million miles an hour.

"- then we can listen in and find out exactly what the plan is, with the Antichrist, how they're going to _evilise_ him, is that a word?, that'll help us thwart this whole Apocalypse bollocks, though, of course, we'll have to do some groundwork, too, but that'll be easy, we know where the little bugger lives, we can -"

"Wait, wait, wait, Crowley, slow down a tittle", Aziraphale raised his hands, obviously missing a few basic but crucial steps here. "You want to _stop the Apocalypse_?"

"You don't?"

The demon looked at him point-blank, as if that were a given. Aziraphale stared back, speechless. It wasn't a question of personal preference. He simply never considered it as a possibility. Crowley had always been one for out-of-the-box thinking, so much so he inadvertently thought himself out of Heaven one day. 

"But.. you're the one who -"

"I know, I know, I kicked it all off, not _my_ fault they gave me the gig, just because I invented those public bathroom taps you have to keep pushing non-stop for the water to come out. So now I'm gonna fix it. The Apocalypse. Not the taps, they're kinda genius."

"You can't _fix_ it, Crowley," Aziraphale shook his head in consternation, filtering his friend's unedited jabbering as well as he could. "It's _The Great Plan_! God's plan for earth.."

"Ah, well", Crowley's voice softened unexpectedly as he leaned down to pick some screws from the floor, plodding over to drop them on the desk, "nothing ever goes according to plan, does it?"

Just ten innocuous words, like ten fingers wrapping around the angel's throat and squeezing his trachea. 

"Maybe not", he muttered, suddenly realising how endlessly tired Crowley looked, he was so smitten he had barely noticed the dark shadows around his eyes. "But I thought you said you were ready for it, the end, that you had no regrets, we knew it was approaching.."

"Yeah, I mean, it sounds fun in theory, I'm all there for the thundering explosions, bit of action, but I don't want to watch all of these adorable little creatures go up in smoke. Do you?"

"It's.. not about what I _want_."

"Well, that's a first."

"What?"

"Never mind. I was going to show you -", the demon started rummaging around in what frankly looked like a potpourri of broken things, "where did I put -.. I promise you, we'll get plenty of entertainment out of this, too, you won't believe what Hastur -"

"We should talk -", the angel blurted out then, very much to his own surprise, squinching his face in dismay. Whatever possessed him to say that. He hoped it wasn't a case of actual demonic possession. On the other hand -

"Are we not talking?"

The response came quick as a shot, far too quickly. Aziraphale bit his tongue, too late to take back the words, but well in time to punish himself.

"Not about Hastur. About us two."

"Is that some sort of abstract poetry attempt?"

" _Crowley_."

The angel watched his friend's shoulders tighten into a straight line as he stopped fiddling with whatever he was holding, leaning on the desk with both hands.

Aziraphale admired that straight line from where he stood, his insides a tangle of half-drawn, half-crossed-out swirls and squiggles. But he could no longer swim against the seething undercurrent blending in with the casual flow of their conversation. It was all he could hope for to stay afloat and -

"Do we really need to have the lame 'post-sex talk', Aziraphale?" Crowley made sharp quotation marks with his fingers as he rolled his head in frustration, showing off an unhelpful amount of bare neck. "Were you not all judgmental about _my_ soap opera habit, a few months back?"

"I -"

"I know I've said it before, but maybe you _have_ gone one stop too far on the whole humanity gravy train."

"Says the occult entity who just took a shower?" Aziraphale quipped, unthinkingly slipping into fight mode. Arguing with Crowley was an easy habit, their arguments were heated and petty and evaporated into thin air in no time at all. But that's not what the angel wanted right now.

At least Crowley seemed to agree, circling the desk with an exaggerated sigh and plopping down on one edge.

"Alright. _Fine_."

He stretched out his long legs, finally facing the angel, looking straight into his eyes.

"I was just stupidly hoping that, since I've done you that favour, we could finally move on from your little pet project, s'all."

Aziraphale's fingers curled at the sudden burst of heat scorching his cheeks. There was nothing factually wrong with what Crowley was saying. Why, then, did it feel like he'd just been slapped in the face?

"Y'know, here I am, trying to save the world, not even my job spec, but never mind, _of course_ , let's talk about sex instead. Go on."

Crowley made a charitable gesture in his direction, giving him the floor. Aziraphale was not ready for the floor. The floor was slipping from underneath his feet, even though he stood perfectly still.

"Uh.."

He had not prepared a grand speech, exactly. Or a humble speech. No speech of any kind had been prepared.

"I guess it just..", he started fumbling with a button on his trench coat, ".. wasn't what I expected."

"Oh. _Right_. Maybe you should have made me a checklist."

"No! That's not what I -"

"Well, _I'm sorry_ if I don't have the stamina of a thousand-year-old demon these days.."

"Crowley, it was _wonderful_!"

The angel gritted his teeth, lighting up like a torch. He did not even _mean_ to talk about the sex, he was rather inept at talking about sex, as had been sufficiently proven by this point, but at least sex was something tangible, something beautifully tactile, unlike all of this hot steam in his chest.

"Okay, then", Crowley did not seem overly sympathetic with his discomfort, offering him a shrug and a lopsided grin as his spine relaxed a little. "Happy to serve."

"I mean, did _you_..?"

"Yeah, sure. I had a good time. You had a good time. Everyone's happy. So, now, can we just -"

" _Wait_!" Aziraphale looked down to where he held a freshly torn-off button in his sweaty palm, frowning, "it was just so -.. you were -.. and I think I -..", he stuffed the button into his coat pocket in exasperation, "..do you know what I'm trying to say at all..?"

The demon sputtered, shaking his head and waggling his eyebrows at him in that uniquely infuriating manner.

"Not really, Angel."

Aziraphale did not even realise how much he needed to hear that corny, unimaginative, casual term of endearment again, the one he'd hated for so long, only to one day discover that he loved it. It seemed Crowley had been avoiding it, but now he slipped up.

"Something about the ineffable plan again, maybe? How you are a touch closer to perceiving God's infinite beauty at its core? Something to that effect?"

Crowley's voice was laced with sarcasm, teasing, but his eyes were soft as they took Aziraphale in, flickering with tenderness at the word 'beauty'. The angel swallowed, melting into that yellow glow, but it wasn't nearly good enough, not when he remembered dissolving into Crowley's touch. He wasn't equipped to deal with such a longing, getting longer by the second, pulling on his nerve strands, thinning out the air, tugging at every fiber until inadvertently he took a tiny step forward.

He almost wished he were human then, which happened more often than he liked to admit, humans seemed to have an intuition for when words were no longer the right medium. Maybe, this was the time. Maybe he was just overthinking again and all that was needed to help with the longing was to shorten the distance.

Yet Crowley was watching him intently, eyes narrowing as he approached, ignoring the crunch of metal and plastic underneath his feet. When Aziraphale was only within lips' reach the demon was ready, stopping him with both hands on his shoulders and shoving him away. 

"No."

Instantly, Crowley's face twitched with regret, maybe he didn't mean to push him so hard, making the angel stumble backward and nearly lose his footing. It helped to ease the hurt a little, but not much. Aziraphale might have as well received a blow to his solar plexus, cutting off his breath, darkening the edges of his vision, even though the apartment was flooded with warm afternoon light. 

"I _told_ you, it was a one-time thing, was that unclear?"

"But.. why does it _have_ to be..?", the angel muttered, suppressing the embarrassing tickle in his nose.

"Look, I did exactly what you asked of me, you said you wanted it to be ' _romantic_ ', guess I did a decent job on that brief, even though that's not really _my style_."

Despite being in knots, Aziraphale's muscles did not fail to quiver at the memory of catching a pretty good glimpse of the demon's 'style'. Usually, talking to Crowley was as easy as thinking to himself, and usually, he would have enjoyed pointing out that the demon's idea of _romance_ was rather flawed, that when Keats wrote about the 'faery power of unreflecting love' he probably wasn't imagining spontaneous desk sex. But everything was off-kilter.

"Doesn't mean you get all-you-can-eat access to my body now whenever you please", Crowley hissed at him, jaw tight as a spring, as a coiled snake, "find someone else to explore with!"

"That won't be necessary", Aziraphale informed him calmly, straightening up and adjusting his lapels. "I'd like to know though, why did you decide to humour me at all, if it was such a chore?"

That narrow-eyed glare wasn't Crowley's prerogative. The angel was pretty damn capable of glaring himself.

Even more capable than he thought, apparently. Crowley's eyes dropped immediately to slide down his outstretched legs to where his feet were hugging each other. The angel wasn't even expecting to get a straight answer instead of yet another retort, but he was wrong.

"I just -", the demon's brows knitted together in concentration, hands clamped around the edges of the desk. "I thought I was ready, but -.. I guess you can never be prepped for the end of the world, for losing.. all of this. _Everything_."

He gave a mirthless little laugh, a few strands of dark red falling across his forehead.

"So, maybe, I was a bit unhinged that night. But it doesn't matter. There's still _time_. It doesn't have to be the end. I can fix it, then we can stay. Can we not.. _stay_?"

And just like that, Aziraphale was no longer angry or hurt, none of those trivialities mattered now, he wasn't confused or scared, everything was so obvious, so simple, he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry."

"For _what_?" Crowley's voice sounded strangely hollow, as if trying to detach itself from any physicality.

"I’ve made quite a mess of this", Aziraphale fidgeted on the spot, kneading his hands together, "of _us_. It's all my fault. I went about this the completely wrong way, back to front, inside out, because I was stupid, and afraid, when all I should have done is to simply tell you -"

"Stop talking, Angel."

"What..?", Aziraphale blinked, "But I have only just started to explain -"

"Stop talking _right now_."

"- it's been such a long time -"

"I don't want to hear it."

"- and I really need to tell you -"

" _SHUT IT_!"

Without a warning, the demon jumped off the desk, getting right in his face in one furious leap, eyes burning away what little oxygen remained between them.

"Do I really need to spell this out to you, Aziraphale! Do you not understand? How long have we been friends? Six thousand years! And you still don't _understand_?!"

"Understand..?", Aziraphale mumbled in utter confusion, instinctively backing away from the unexpected blaze. 

"Oh..", Crowley shook his head, no, his whole body at him, face contorting with emotions that were shooting out all at once, like solar flares. 

Aziraphale could only gape in helpless silence, blinded, as the demon started pacing up and down in front of him, a blur of aimless, jerky steps, gesticulating wildly.

"You like to keep reminding me that you're an angel and I'm a demon, because you like to feel superior, and I don't mind, honestly, smugness suits you, the way it lights up your face, those little wrinkles around your eyes.. But I don't think you really _get_ it these days."

"Wha -?"

"We've been here for such a long time, we adapted so well, I mean, you're always lagging about five decades behind, but still -"

"I -"

"But one day, you'll _remember_ , you will really, _really_ remember, that we're not the same, and we'll never _be_ the same!"

Crowley threw his hands in the air, speaking faster, more feverish by the second, as if his mouth burnt with the words.

"I know, deep down, you still think I'll be forgiven, one day, because you're _adorable_ , but that won't _happen_! None of this -"

He suddenly stopped pacing to make a sweeping gesture, drawing a zero around his body. 

"None. Of this. Is _real_! Here -"

He rushed over to the desk, picking up a large whiskey tumbler and crushing it in his hand, an explosion of red and brown, alcohol and blood.

" _Crowley_!" Aziraphale gasped, wide-eyed, clasping a hand over his mouth.

"What's the matter?" The demon snarled, picking a large, jagged glass splinter out of his palm and flicking it over his shoulder, holding up his bleeding hand. The gaping wound was already closing as the shard hit the floor. "Did you forget, Angel? That this _matter_ is just a charade?"

"Please stop this -"

"Oh, I'm _fine_! I'm not even a _person_! I'm just a snake under your feet! That's all I'll ever be!"

"What?!"

"We're no match! I remember that every blasted day of my cursed existence! So, please, do me the common decency to remember that, too!"

"But I never -"

"I fell once! I didn't mean to, fine, it happened, I'm over it, but I know _better_ now, I know the _signs_ now!"

He raked his bloodstained fingers through his hair, leaving dark red streaks across his forehead.

"And when you drop me, I'll fall again! And I'll break, forever! No more fun Mr Crowley! No more cute little lunch dates where we pretend it bothers us that everyone thinks we're a couple!"

The demon punctuated his words by kicking at the clutter around him in uncontrollable rage, shattering it all to pieces.

"There won't be a place for me anymore, _anywhere_! Do you not _get_ that?! How can someone as clever as you be so _stupid_?!"

" _Crowley_ -", Aziraphale could only whisper in response, swallowing back tears. His vision had gone so blurry he could barely make out his friend’s face anymore.

"Oh, no no no. None of this!"

Suddenly, the demon’s fists were bunched in the fabric at his chest, pushing him up against the nearest wall, their bodies pressed together, the tips of their noses touching.

"I don't need your sympathy! Or your -".

He nearly said the four-letter word before catching himself. Aziraphale whimpered, shell- shocked, barely daring to breathe, fingers clutching at the demon's hands that were holding him in an unrelenting grip.

" _Please_ , Crowley -"

"I'm good with the way things are! I just need you to be _there_! Can you do that for me? Just that one little thing?"

"Of course -.. _of course_.."

Aziraphale would have given him anything right now, wrapped into the heat of his agony, every ounce of his immortal soul. Only Crowley did not want his soul.

"Promise me we'll never have this conversation again!"

There were so many things the angel still needed to say. That Crowley was wrong, about _everything_. That it did not make an iota of sense for them to torture themselves, and each other, if they both felt exactly the same. That this was the most moronic thing to ever happen to love since Romeo and Juliet.

But Crowley was falling apart in front of his eyes, like a million-piece jigsaw, like a twisted swirl of red hot sand, and it was all Aziraphale could do not to let him blow to smithereens.

" _Promise me_!"

"Alright, I promise. I _promise_! Just, _please_ -"

The demon gave a shaky exhale against his cheek, it might have been relief, or the exact opposite. He held Aziraphale there for just a moment longer, tracing the curves of the angel’s face with his lips from mere inches away. 

Then the demon let him go, staggering back to brace himself against the desk, shoulders trembling, the whole of his frame slumped in on itself. Aziraphale could hear his heartbreaking little sniffs, and all he wanted from this reality, or any other, was to simply wrap his arms around Crowley and make all of this go away. He stretched out a tentative hand, pulled it back, slowly, then brought it up to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle, as hard as he could.

The pain in his finger was still palpable when Crowley turned back around. Oh, he was so good at wearing masks. 

"Alright, then", the demon smiled, "now that this is settled, can we _please_ talk about this James Bond worthy stuff I’ve come up with?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God's voice: "Aziraphale did not keep his promise." 
> 
> One more chapter left and I'm in a bit of a pickle. I made lots of notes for this story right from the start, so I had a pretty clear idea of how I wanted it to end when I was on chapter two.
> 
> But I did NOT expect for the story to get so emotional, somehow, so now I don't know if the light, fluffy ending I wanted still fits.. argh.
> 
> Do people want a light, fluffy ending? Or more suffering? 😅 Opinions please.


End file.
